


You Can't Save Everyone

by the__magpie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Human Castiel, M/M, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:31:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3265034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the__magpie/pseuds/the__magpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas doesn't like to see Dean in pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can't Save Everyone

**Author's Note:**

> AU where Dean doesn’t kick human!Cas out of the bunker (set mid-season 9)

Cas liked the Men of Letters library. These days, Sam and Dean were gone so often on hunts that there was little else for Cas to do but sit in the library and read the endless collection of books. He didn’t mind; he enjoyed the vast amounts of information that the Men of Letters had collected over the years. Sam and Dean didn’t take advantage of it nearly enough, and Kevin was sleeping so often these days that he didn’t have time for much else. So most of the time, Cas found himself in the library, browsing through books on monsters, demons – even angels.

This was where he was when the door of the bunker burst open. Cas dropped the (very inaccurate) tome on the history of angelic intervention he had been reading and jumped to his feet to see Sam and Dean staggering down the steps. Dean’s arm was flung around Sam’s shoulder, his face pale and tight.

“Cas!” Sam called. “Help me.”

Cas hurried over to the two of them. It wasn’t until he was a few feet away that he noticed the blood covering the right side of Dean’s body, turning his green jacket dark brown. Cas’ stomach went cold. “What happened?” he asked tensely, helping Sam lower Dean into one of the chairs around the table.

“Werewolf,” Sam replied breathlessly. “Clawed his side up pretty bad. For some reason, the bleeding won’t stop. I was hoping the Men of Letters would have something to help us heal it up.”

The boys had found a case only a few towns over. It was just a lone werewolf, an easy enough job, and Cas hadn’t even thought to worry. But now, with Dean bleeding heavily onto the smooth wood of the chair, he felt acid fear gnawing at his insides.

“I’ll get him to his room,” he told Sam. “You start researching.”

“Be careful,” Sam called as he disappeared into the library. “He’s lost a lot blood.”

Dean’s eyelids were fluttering weakly; he seemed only half conscious. One hand was clutching his side, where Cas could see his jacket was tattered and bloody. Uncertainly, Cas reached down and wrapped Dean’s free arm around his shoulders, beginning to lift him upright. Dean groaned loudly and Cas almost dropped him, but he gritted his teeth and kept going.

Sam as already pouring over a pile of books when Cas and Dean passed him. Dean was heavy; he leaned nearly all of his weight onto Cas, making both of them stagger like they were drunk. It took a long time and a lot of groans on Dean’s end and frustrated grunts on Cas’ for them to finally make it through the labyrinth of halls to Dean’s room.

As soon as they reached his bed, Dean collapsed onto his back. Cas immediately ran to the bathroom around the corner, finding the box of medical supplies that Sam kept well stocked and rushing back to Dean’s side.

He stopped next to Dean’s bed, suddenly unsure of what to do. Not long ago, he could fix this simply by touching him, but now he had to do it the human way and he had little experience with that. Hesitantly, he reached out and pushed aside the torn up jacket. He could see deep scratches oozing blood across Dean’s side, and his stomach turned over.

This is no time to be squeamish, he told himself firmly. He pushed away Dean’s jacket and tore off the parts of his tattered shirt that covered the wound. Dean barely reacted, beside a slight twitch of his face. He seemed to have completely lost consciousness. His side was so covered in fresh blood that Cas could barely see the wounds themselves.

“Clean the wounds,” he muttered to himself, remembering this from watching Sam and Dean patch themselves up countless times after hunts. He extracted a washcloth from the pile of medical supplies, ran to the bathroom to wet it, and came back to carefully begin cleaning around the scratches. Dean groaned and tried to roll away, but Cas put a firm hand on his shoulder to hold him in place.

By the time all the blood was washed away, the washcloth was stained red and Dean’s face was pulled into a pained scowl. More blood kept oozing from the wounds, and Cas wasn’t sure how to stop it. This couldn’t be normal.

Sam appeared at the doorway a moment later holding a yellowed book. He dropped the open book at the foot of Dean’s bed and began talking quickly. “There’s a spell in here that can help heal cursed wounds, which I’m pretty sure is what this is because the bleeding won’t stop…I just need some ingredients and then I can perform it. I’ll be back soon, just try to take care of him as best as you can.”

He was about to turn away when he noticed Cas’ lost expression. Moving quickly, Sam rifled through the medical supplies and pulled out a large bandage. “Put pressure on the wound. Stay here until I get back.”

Sam was gone a moment later, taking his book with him. Cas picked up the bandage and looked from it to Dean’s gashes, wondering if it would hurt Dean when he pressed on them.

“Cas?” a weak voice muttered. Cas’ eyes flew to Dean’s face, where he was blinking awake, trying to focus in on Cas.

“You’re awake,” Cas breathed, bending over Dean anxiously. “How do you feel?”

“Like hell,” Dean groaned. He tried to shift his body, but winced and looked down at his side. “Wha…?”

“Werewolf,” Cas said quickly. “Sam said. It’s cursed, apparently, and won’t stop bleeding, but Sam’s found a spell to stop it and he’s working on it right now. Here.” He held out the bandage. “Press this against the wound.”

“I don’t need a spell,” Dean grumbled. “I’ll be fine—” He tried to sit up but collapsed back immediately with a sharp intake of breath. The cuts began to bleed again with renewed strength.

“Dean!” Cas exclaimed reproachfully. “You have to stay still. Put pressure on it.”

Dean reluctantly took the bandage from Cas and pressed it against his side, closing his eyes briefly and clenching his jaw to hold back a groan. Cas realized he was biting the inside of his cheek when he tasted blood.

“Is that better?” he asked after a moment. Dean opened his eyes and peered at him, then nodded. Cas exhaled. Exhausted now, he sat down the edge of Dean’s bed.

“Guess I’ll have to get new sheets after this,” Dean joked, gesturing to the blood soaked blankets beneath him. “Or people will think I’m on my period.”

Cas looked at him blankly and Dean rolled his eyes.

“You have to be really careful, you know, or your wounds could get infected,” Cas said anxiously. “I don’t know if cursed wounds are more dangerous in that respect – I’ll do some research – but make sure you keep it clean and don’t overexert yourself until it’s fully healed.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “Okay, Mom.”

“I’m serious, Dean,” Cas said urgently. “You have to take care of yourself. Especially now that I can’t…” His eyes dropped. The smile slid off Dean’s face.

“You can’t what?”

“I can’t heal you,” Cas whispered, staring at Dean’s shoulder instead of his face.

“Hey, that’s not your fault,” Dean said, his voice surprisingly soft. “I got along just fine before you came along.” He must have noticed the hurt in Cas’ expression because he shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just that everyone else gets along fine without their own guardian angel, and now I have to too.”

“I’m not you’re guardian angel anymore, Dean,” Cas murmured.

“That’s fine,” Dean said. “You’re still here, aren’t you? You’re still watching over me.”

“I don’t like seeing you hurt or in pain,” Cas said. “I wish I could just…” He reached out and touched Dean’s cheek, like he used to when he healed his wounds. Dean leaned ever so slightly into his touch.

“You can’t save everyone, my friend,” Dean murmured, echoing the words Cas said to him the year before.

“But if I can’t save you, then what’s the point?” Cas didn’t want to move his hand away and Dean wasn’t making any indication that he wanted it gone, so he kept it there, holding Dean’s face, as if touch alone would make everything better. For a few seconds, Cas almost believed it did.

In the doorway, Sam cleared his throat. Cas whipped his hand away from Dean’s face, feeling his own face grow warm for some reason.

“I’ve got the ingredients,” Sam said after a moment’s pause in which he seemed to be debating whether or not to say anything about the scene that he had just walked in on. Cas realized that he was relieved when Sam didn’t.

After that, it was a jumble of Sam assembling the ingredients and Cas trying to help but only getting in the way and ending up sitting at Dean’s side while Dean stifled a smirk. Sam spoke the incantation and Dean grumbled about the weird tickling feeling in his side, but after a moment the bleeding began to slow down. Cas released a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding and allowed himself to smile weakly at Dean.

“We still have to stitch up the cuts,” Sam said, and Dean groaned. Cas helped Sam move a lamp to shine onto Dean’s side, then Sam moved to prepare a needle and thread. Sam produced a half-empty bottle of whiskey from somewhere and Dean made a grab for it, but Sam moved away and poured a bit of it over the needle to sterilize it.

“Waste of good whiskey,” Dean muttered. He brightened up considerably when Sam shoved the bottle into his hand, and Cas watched his adam’s apple bob up and down as he took a long swig. “Much better,” Dean sighed.

“Are you ready?” Sam said, bending over Dean’s wounds. On Dean’s other side, Cas found himself biting the inside of his cheek again. Dean clenched his jaw and nodded, and Sam went to work.

Dean’s breath hissed through his teeth when the needle first entered his skin, but besides that he didn’t make a noise. Cas’ fingers dug into the mattress and he wished again that there was something, anything, he could do to make this less painful.

A tiny noise escaped Dean’s throat when Sam started on the second of the long scratches, and without realizing what he was doing Cas reached out and grabbed Dean’s hand, which lay on the bed beside him. Dean’s eyes flew to Cas’ face. Cas nodded reassuringly and Dean closed his eyes, his jaw tense.

Cas couldn’t watch the needle threading in and out of Dean’s skin without feeling sick, so he focused on Dean’s hand around his own. Dean’s fingers gripped Cas’ so tightly they were turning white, but Cas just squeezed back, assuring him that he would be alright. At one point, Sam glanced up and saw their hands clasped together, but he didn’t say anything.

It seemed like forever before Sam finally tied off the last stitch. He let Dean take another long drink of whiskey before taking the bottle and pouring what was left over the newly closed wounds. It was only then that Dean released Cas’ crushed fingers.

“Would you mind cleaning it again and bandaging it up?” Sam asked Cas. “I’ll put these ingredients away.”

He disappeared a moment later, and Cas moved back around to find the cloth he had used before. He bent over Dean’s side and slowly began wiping away the bits of dried blood and dark brown whiskey stains from around Sam’s crooked, uneven stitches. Neither of them spoke, but Cas could feel Dean’s eyes on him.

It wasn’t until Cas pressed a bandage over the scratches and began taping it in place that Dean said, “Thank you.”

Cas didn’t meet his eyes. “For what?”

“For helping.”

Cas gave a breathy, humorless laugh. “I didn’t do much except sit here.”

“You did more than you know.”

The bandage finished, Cas stopped. “I’m done.”

“Cas,” Dean said, and Cas finally looked him in the eyes. “You may not be able to heal me like you used to, but just having you here…it helps.”

Dean’s eyes were starting to get unfocused. Cas placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “You need to rest.”

The combination of alcohol and blood loss and exhaustion slurred Dean’s words slightly. “Stay with me.”

Cas froze. “What?”

Dean’s eyelids were drooping. “Stay. Until I fall asleep.”

Cas stood up and Dean made a noise of protest, until Cas said, “I’m turning off the light.” He crossed the room and flipped the light switch, bathing the room in darkness. Then he found his way back to Dean’s side and listened to his shallow breathing became more and more even.

Tentatively, Cas found Dean’s hand in the darkness, barely touching it with his fingers. Dean’s hand twitched, and he moved it so that their fingertips rested together. Cas exhaled slowly. It was a long time before he was sure that Dean was asleep, but when he was, Cas reached out and lightly touched Dean’s hair. “I’ll stay,” he whispered.

Sam found him the next morning asleep the floor with his back against the bed and his arm curved up onto the sheets, his fingers twined through Dean’s.


End file.
